


A Dragon in the Desert

by BrushDog



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, McHanzo Week, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrushDog/pseuds/BrushDog
Summary: Overwatch Agent Hanzo Shimada finds himself held captive in the belly of the beast and at the mercy of the ruler of Deadlock Gorge: Jesse McCree.





	

The mission was a complete and utter failure. Hanzo was not one to shy away from justified criticism of his own actions. In fact, he often encouraged it, diligently seeking ways to improve himself and his output as an agent of Overwatch. Certainly, such censure was not always needed, and should not interrupt the success and coordination of the mission itself. Yet at this particular moment, trapped in the inky blackness of a steel shipping container, Hanzo suddenly found himself with a surplus of time to asses the failure of the mission and his current situation.

It had been a simple strike. Well coordinated, with skilled and trusted agents at his disposal. Their intelligence was trustworthy, corroborated from multiple sources. The target was the Deadlock Gang, the objective was a clean blow meant to disable and discourage the criminal operations of the organization.

The problem was that they had been sold out. Someone had revealed their position to the enemy, and as a result they had found themselves outflanked, outnumbered, and ruthlessly routed within minutes.

There would need to be an inquiry upon his return, Hanzo thought with a grimace. If he returned, that was.

Though there was no reason to deal upon corrective actions at this point in time. There was nothing that could be done for such things in his current situation. With a sigh, Hanzo shifted from where he lay, bound by hand and foot on the uncomfortable wooden floor of the container.

His chestplate was scuffed, the sleeves of his uniform torn and bloodied. Unsightly. He was certain that he could feel a bruise spreading across one cheek and the familiar sensation of blood caked over his forehead, matting his hair. Trust a vulgar gang like Deadlock not to afford their prisoners the simple decency of having their wounds properly cleaned and dressed. With a pang of nostalgia, Hanzo thought that if this were Shimada territory, he would have been treated with respect, even as an enemy combatant.

The scrape of metal against metal echoing off the container walls reminded Hanzo that there was no time to dwell on the past now. His history with his family was for another day, the mission came first. He squinted his eyes, turning towards the sound just in time to see a sliver of light burst forth in the darkness of his holding chamber. It spread wider as the doors to the container drew open, parting in a truly ostentatious display of the man who stood poised between them.

"Well now," the man's drawl echoed off the rusted metal walls, the ember of a cigarillo lighting his rough hewn face as his lips curled around it for an appreciative drag. "Looks like the boys weren't lying. We got ourselves a live one."

Hanzo jerked his chin up towards the man, his posture tight and precise despite his bindings.

"No thanks to your hospitality," he shot back, his words clipped and direct. "You treat your prisoners poorly, Jesse McCree."

"Haven't heard much in the way of complaints before," Jesse said with a shrug. He plucked the cigarillo from his lips, tapping the ash out as he slowly sauntered down the length of the container to where Hanzo was waiting.

The spurs on his boots jangled with each step, the frayed edges of a dusty and worn red serape trailing behind him. Hanzo could feel his lip curling in disgust at the sight of it all. He had seen pictures of Jesse before. The reconnaissance work that Blackwatch had done for the operation was impeccable, as always, yet even grainy satellite photos and mugshots couldn't have prepared him for the pure caricature that was the man standing in front of him.

In a word, he looked ridiculous.

Jesse came to a halt about a meter away from Hanzo, his silhouette backlit by the dim fluorescents streaming in through the container doors. Hanzo could only see his face clearly now through the glow of the cigarillo. He had given no reply to the  _ cowboy _ 's earlier quip, and Jesse now lifted a bushy eyebrow in question at his apparent silence, one hand pushing the rugged Stetson higher on his brow.

"You must be the quiet type, then," he mused. Dark eyes swept over Hanzo's form in a calculating assessment. Hanzo met them with an imperious glare. He would not be underestimated.

"I do not recall being asked a question," he said plainly.

Jesse grinned. Mentally, Hanzo checked himself. He had made an error in his assumptions regarding the cowboy's demeanor. 

"If it's questions you want, me and the boys can fix you right up, partner," Jesse said. He stepped closer, falling into a crouch within arm's reach of Hanzo now.

"Let's start with names. Seems like you already know mine, so how about you give me yours?"

Hanzo let out a short breath through his nose, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Hanzo."

"You gotta last name, Hanzo?" Jesse asked, stretching out the final vowel in the name with a playful drawl. "Would hate for there to any sort of misunderstanding if I wanted to tell the good folks back in Geneva what happened to you."

He nodded down towards Hanzo's chest with that remark, his eyes flicking towards the orange and white symbol emblazoned against his armor.

Hanzo worked his jaw carefully as his thoughts raced. There was no chance for any 'misunderstanding,' as the cowboy so delicately phrased it. Overwatch had no other agents by the name of 'Hanzo,' and even if they did he had been given responsibility for the strike on Deadlock. They were already aware of the mission's catastrophic failure, and would likely be aware of his survival should Deadlock contact them to negotiate for the release of any hostages.

No, his reticence was due entirely to the weight attached to the name 'Shimada.' Their intelligence had found no connections between the Shimada-gumi's network and the arms trade of Deadlock. Yet the underworld was smaller than it seemed, and information traveled quickly.

Still, if the cowboy did know of him, it would perhaps give him something he could leverage. A connection, an opportunity to earn trust while he tried to calculate an escape plan.

"Shimada," Hanzo said at length, holding Jesse's eyes in an unwavering glare.

The recognition was instantaneous. Jesse's eyes went wide, the cigarillo nearly dropping from his lips before he caught it between his fingers.

"Hanzo Shimada?  _ The _ Hanzo Shimada? Left for dead and went rogue to work for the good guys against your own family?"

"I have yet to meet another," Hanzo said with an indignant huff.

"I'll be goddamned," Jesse's face lit up, his lips curling into a wide, boisterous grin. He turned abruptly, shouting back to the guards stationed at the container doors. "Hey, fellas! You wouldn't believe who we bagged here!  _ Hanzo _ Shimada."

The way Jesse said his name made it sound like some sort of warbling croon. Hanzo fought the urge to grimace at the sound of it. How uncouth. Fortunately, it was over quickly enough. Jesse turned back to him, a playful bounce in his posture now, a lightness in the way he held himself. Hanzo was wary of it.

"Sorry about all that, Shimada-san," Jesse said with false sincerity, puffing another drag on his cigarillo before pulling it from his lips. "If I'd've known we were dealing with you, I woulda given you a real proper welcome."

Hanzo could sense the danger in the air. The spark of it was lit by his name, it was charged in fevered look in the cowboy's eyes. He had to tread carefully.

"Do you expect me to ask what that is?" Hanzo said, keeping his posture tense, gaze fixed on Jesse's gleeful expression.

"Figured you'd be smarter than that," Jesse waved his free hand to dispel the thought. The light from the doorway glinted off the metal of the limb. A prosthetic.

"But I will tell you," he continued, reaching out to clap the hand down on Hanzo's shoulder, closing the space between them. "It starts out something like this."

That was when he ground the ember of the cigarillo straight into the exposed flesh of Hanzo's forearm.

To Hanzo's credit, he didn't scream. He ground his teeth, nostrils flared, as the scent of burning flesh filled the room.

Jesse was watching him, eyes wide with vicious intent as he twisted the butt of the cigarillo until it died completely. He pulled it away, eyebrows raised as he tried to inspect it in the dim light of the container.

"You took to that better than most," he mused, rummaging in his back pocket for a lighter. "Usually that gets a pretty good rise."

"I was not aware," Hanzo trained his voice to an even tone, exhaling carefully around the pain stuck in his throat, "that I was here for your entertainment."

Jesse found his lighter, flicking it to life just in time for the flame of it to light the silken smile curling over his lips.

"Oh, darlin," he sang, sucking around the cigarillo between his lips. It popped and sputtered, wet with blood, before springing to life. "You and me, we're gonna have a  _ lovely _ time together."

**Author's Note:**

> So this was basically a burst of inspiration I had based on one of the McHanzo prompts. There's more story to tell here, but I realized I wouldn't have time to finish it within the week itself so I'm leaving it at this snippet.
> 
> I may come around and write the full story after I finish my other multichapter fic, we'll see what happens.


End file.
